


all the stars align

by countthestars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-26 19:46:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3862441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countthestars/pseuds/countthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Your mark,” the boy says.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Niall glances down at the name scrawled across the inside of his bicep, his chest suddenly tight. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “'S kinda unusual, right? Never met a Zayn.”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“I'm Zayn,” the boy tells him, sounding a bit strained.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	all the stars align

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> hiya love! i ended up combining two of your prompts & i sincerely hope the end result is something you enjoy :) also most of the stuff about space/stars i got directly from wikipedia, so let's just collectively overlook any mistakes i may have made for the sake of fiction. cliched title from 'once in a lifetime' by one direction.
> 
> endless thanks to my beta, who i would be utterly lost without <33

The blinds are closed, but slivers of faint starlight still creep in through the broken slats that don't quite cover the window. It's not enough to illuminate the space by half, Niall's room more shadow than anything else.

Damn shame, honestly, because it makes the features of the boy in Niall's bed hard to make out. Niall remembers the smudge of dark lashes, cheekbones you could grate cheese on, and eyes as bottomless as a black hole. So, all right, he's not going to be winning any poetry contests. At least he hasn't had quite enough alcohol to spill his thoughts out loud.

His head's still a little hazy, either from that last drink or coming so hard it curled his toes. Next to him, the boy looks just as relaxed, his long hair fanning out darkly against the white of Niall's pillow. Lips sliding into a sloppy grin, Niall leans over to press his mouth to the boy's, tasting the sharp bite of tequila and something else – a hint of smoke, maybe. The boy kisses him back lazily, hand coming up to cup Niall's jaw with a gentle grip.

Their legs are still tangled, their clothes a messy pile on the floor, and Niall doesn't make a habit of getting off with someone without learning their name first, but the club had been loud and the liquor plentiful. Also, those bottomless eyes. Niall swore he saw galaxies in them.

Breaking the kiss, Niall catches sight of the blinking red of his alarm clock. Nearly four in the morning. The late hour will probably be something to regret come tomorrow, but for now: “Did you know that this is the best time of night to see the Capricornus constellation?”

For a moment, the boy just blinks at him. Niall doesn't think he's imagining the graceful sweep of long lashes, or the glint of white teeth as the boy cracks a small smile. “Sounds like a line, mate. You realize you already pulled, yeah?”

Niall grins back. “What's your sign?”

He can feel the way the boy's chest shakes with quiet laughter. “'M a Capricorn, actually.”

“Really? Fuck, then you've gotta see this. Hang on, lemme--” He props himself up on one hand, reaching out with the other to jerk the blinds open. They're finicky and he's still a little drunk, so the end result is a bit lopsided, but it's enough to see a slice of night sky and a scattering of faded stars, their light nearly drowned out by the glow of the city.

“Look,” Niall says a little breathlessly, “See, just there? It's sort of a triangle, and those two bright stars are the corners, and then the third is on the bottom...”

He trails off when the boy wraps his hand around Niall's arm, grip tight. “You all right?” he asks after a moment, when the boy hasn't done more than stare at the patch of Niall's skin just visible above the curl of his fingers.

“Your mark,” the boy says.

Niall glances down at the name scrawled across the inside of his bicep, his chest suddenly tight. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “'S kinda unusual, right? Never met a Zayn.”

“I'm Zayn,” the boy tells him, sounding a bit strained. His eyes are still fixed on the mark and his hand feels hot against Niall's skin, like the burning scorch of a brand. Niall's sure he could peel his fingers back and see exactly where their skin touched, the shiny pink of freshly healed flesh that will harden into scar tissue. Permanent.

“You – what? I thought you... you're _Zayn_?”

Slowly, Zayn loosens his grip, uncurling his fingers one by one. Niall can feel his heartbeat, loud in his chest, in his ears, this stuttering rhythm that drowns out everything else. The boy is _Zayn_.

“You're--”

“Sorry,” Zayn says quickly. He's sitting up now, his smile replaced with a flat line between thin lips, and his eyes belong to a stranger. “Sorry,” he repeats. “It's not me, though. I mean, I don't have your name, too.”

Niall slumps back onto the bed, his heart still thundering. On instinct he brushes his own fingers over his bicep, and the skin feels cool, unblemished. He tries out a laugh, and it's only a little shaky. “For a second there, I thought, like.”

“I know,” Zayn's voice is quiet. “Close call, huh? Hey, do you mind if I have a smoke?”

“Oh, um.” Shoving at his fringe, Niall tries to regroup. It's just – he'd thought he'd actually found _him_ , for a moment. It's a lot to process, finding your soulmate and losing them, all in the space of a few seconds. “'Course not,” he finally gets out. “There's a balcony, just off the kitchen.”

“Cheers.” Zayn climbs out of bed, pulling on a pair of pants that could belong to either of them. It's hard to tell, in the dark. He's reaching for wrinkled jeans when Niall's racing thoughts finally catch up.

“Wait.” The word falls from his lips a little too sharply, and Zayn glances up, his dark hair falling across his forehead, hiding his eyes in shadow. “You – I never told you my name. Did I?”

He can see the way the corner of Zayn's mouth tips up in the illusion of a smile. “It's Niall, isn't it? Tell me I'm wrong.”

“No,” Niall says, echoing Zayn's weary attempt at a grin. He's tired suddenly, exhaustion hitting him with the crushing force of a tidal wave. “No, you got it right.”

“'S what I was afraid of,” Zayn mumbles, barely loud enough for Niall to catch. He unearths a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, slipping one behind his ear. His shirt is still somewhere on Niall's floor, and his bare chest looks pale in the weak light where it isn't covered in dark ink, the room too dim to make out the details. Somewhere amongst the tattoos littering his skin is a name that isn't Niall's.

Just as well, Niall decides as Zayn slinks from the room on bare feet. He hates the smell of smoke. It's fine, that this Zayn isn't _his_ Zayn.

It takes ages for his heartbeat to slow enough that he can fall asleep, despite the exhaustion creeping into his bones. The bed's still empty when he finally does drift off.

-

By morning, the rest of Zayn's clothes are gone from his bedroom floor, like he was never there at all. Niall shuffles into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes as he roots around his fridge for something to throw together for breakfast.

Lighting up the hob, Niall cracks a few eggs, whisking them as the pan heats up. His kitchen is small and stuffy, and the tequila from last night's not doing his head any favors. He cracks the window, hoping for a cool breeze, and catches the lingering scent of smoke, an echo from a dream.

The smell of frying food chases it away, and by the time Niall's finished eating, he feels nearly human again.

-

“How do you like, know. That you've got the right person? When you've found your soulmate, I mean.”

Louis blinks at him for a full thirty seconds. Niall times it, watching the second hand tick halfway around the clock behind his head.

“Well, Nialler,” Louis starts. “You see, everyone is born with a mark, the name of their soulmate somewhere on their skin, and from there it's a simple task, learning how to read--”

“Oh, shut up. Yes, thank you, I get the concept of marks, christ. I meant, there's obviously, like. More than one person with the same name. How many Liam's did you meet, before you met yours?”

Louis' eyes go a bit soft at the mention of Liam's name, even though they've been together for ages and still fight like cats and dogs sometimes. It's sort of gross. Niall's so jealous it hurts.

“You just know,” Louis says, like that explains anything at all.

“Yeah, but _how_?” Niall presses. He drags a chip through his ketchup, a red smear against the plate. They're at Niall's favorite pub for a late lunch between classes, a shabby sort of place not far from campus. It's cheap and delicious, which is why it's Niall's favorite.

Louis shrugs, stealing a chip from Niall's plate. “Meet your soulmate, and you'll see, won't you?”

“That is so incredibly unhelpful. That's like, the opposite of helpful. It's hurtful, is what it is.”

Rolling his eyes, Louis shoves the entire chip in his mouth, chewing noisily. After swallowing, he says, “I don't know, Niall, it's – it's hard to explain, innit? It's like – you meet their eyes across the room, and there's no one else. You don't know a thing about them, but you don't need to. It's enough.”

Taking a sip from his pint, Niall frowns. “You called Liam a terrible bore and spent the first six months you knew him trying to wind him up,” he points out.

“Yes, well. Even when we couldn't stand each other, we wanted to be near each other, you know? It all worked out in the end. 'S why we're soulmates, Nialler. It was always gonna work out.” He says it casually, definitively, not a hint of doubt in his voice. “And anyway, I still try to wind him up. Not my fault he's gone and developed a tolerance.”

It's definitely Louis' fault, but Niall thinks maybe that's the point. He drags his plate closer, away from Louis' greedy fingers, and chokes down a few more bites. They sit heavily in the pit of his stomach. Absentmindedly, he rubs his fingertips over the mark on the inside of his arm, the lettering dark against his pale skin.

Nodding towards Niall's mark, Louis adds, “You're not worried about meeting too many Zayns, are ya? 'S not exactly a common name.”

“Be happy just to meet one,” Niall quips. It's true, or at least, it was true last week. Now that he's gone and met the wrong one, everything feels off kilter, like walking through a familiar room in the dark where shadows mask hidden corners, bumping into knees and elbows when you don't expect it.

“You will,” Louis says with confidence. “That's how it works.”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees, and drains the last of his pint.

-

Niall's walking home from class, earbuds in and music pounding, when he decides to take a shortcut through the park. It's technically not a short cut in the sense that it actually adds ten minutes to his walk home, but the sun is out, spring is in the air, and Niall's got two papers to write once he actually gets home. He deserves the reprieve.

The dog catches him completely off guard. One second he's strolling along, head bobbing to the beat, and the next there's a dark furry blur knocking into his knees. He stumbles, nearly manages to right himself, but then the dog's lead pulls tight over his shins, forcing him to take a step back.

With an oomph, Niall's shoulders hit a very solid chest, a pair of hands grabbing him by the hips to steady him. It's a wasted effort, since the bloody dog is still racing in circles, wrapping the lead tighter round his legs, and Niall goes down in a heap, taking the bloke with him.

His landing is sort of cushioned, since he lands directly on top of the poor bloke, who lets out a wheezing groan. The dog is barking its head off, yipping excitedly, and Niall scrambles to sit up, but can't get far with the lead tangled around his knees, pinning him in place.

“Sorry, sorry, it's the lead, I can't--”

“No, bro, fuck, I'm the one who should be apologizing – Boris, f'fuck's sake, sit! Sit!”

Boris sits, tail wagging happily, and Niall sees a hand snake out to unclip the lead from where he's practically sat in the bloke's lap. The tension around his legs immediately lessens and Niall's able to squirm away, finally turning around to see who he's knocked to the ground.

Zayn is smiling sheepishly at him, a faint blush staining his cheeks, and it blooms even redder when he realizes who he's tangled up with.

“Oh, shit. I am so, so sorry, I didn't mean--”

Gingerly, Niall rolls onto his knees, ignoring the twinge in the bad one. “Nah, mate, don't worry about it. Least we didn't land in a pond, yeah?”

It earns him a blank look.

“Like _101 Dalmatians_?” he tries to clarify. “Pretty sure that lead trick is how the dog got 'em together.”

Zayn's lips curl into a smile, his tongue poking behind his teeth. “Don't think my dog's a matchmaker, like. Just a menace.”

“Yeah,” Niall grins back. “Anyway, be a little late, on the matchmaking front, wouldn't he?” He gestures between himself and Zayn in a way that's meant to convey that even though they hooked up, Niall's so fucking chill about it they can just have a laugh now, forget about the way that Niall's got Zayn's name branded across his skin, or how Zayn bailed the minute he found out.

It must not translate, because Zayn wrinkles his nose, smile turning tight. “Yeah, I, uh. Sorry, about, y'know.” He makes a gesture that Niall interprets as Zayn very much remembering the way he left, how his face dropped when he saw Niall's mark, and that he's not feeling very chill about it at all.

“It's fine,” Niall says, even though it's not. Slowly, he pushes to his feet, wiping a smudge of dirt off his knee. Zayn's still sitting on his arse, the lead looped over one leg, and Niall reaches down, offering him a hand up. His grip is tight, fingers warm and dry as he clasps his hand in Niall's, lets Niall pull him to his feet. He drops it as soon as he's steady, shoving both hands into his pockets.

Clearing his throat, Zayn says, “I should collect my idiot dog before he terrorizes anyone else.”

“Yeah, 'course,” Niall says. “I'll, uh. See you around?”

Zayn just smiles, a twitch of his lips that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He whistles for Boris, clipping the lead back on when he trots over, and Niall watches him walk away out of the corner of his eye, under the pretense of untangling the cords to his earbuds.

Thick clouds shroud the sun the rest of his walk home. Niall turns up his music and pretends not to notice.

-

Several hours later, Niall's managed to crack open no less than seven books, various bits highlighted and post-it notes stuck to dog-eared pages. The word document on his computer is still blank, though, cursor blinking obnoxiously at him. With a deep sigh, Niall reaches for the nearest book, eyes skimming the text without comprehending what he's reading. It's not even a difficult paper topic – seven sources is probably overkill, all told – but he's too fidgety to focus, even with his neatly highlighted and marked up texts.

Shutting his laptop so he doesn't have to stare at the accusatory blink of the cursor, Niall grabs his mobile, bringing up his Facebook app. He bites his lip as he taps on the search bar, typing in careful key strokes: _Z-A-Y-N_.

It takes the page a moment to load, and Niall hits the back button almost as soon as it does, dropping his mobile on the table with disgust. He's not – god. There are stories, of course, of people searching for their soulmates on social media, finding a potential match and flying across the country in case they've found the _one_. Niall always felt like that was cheating a bit, though. Forcing fate, or something.

Soulmates are _meant to be_. Written in the stars, and all that shit. You were supposed to meet your soulmate exactly when the universe wanted you to, fall in love and settle down, live happily ever after.

That's what everyone said, anyway. Rubbing his thumb over his mark, Niall studies the black script, the four letters that have defined his life since the day he was born.

It makes sense, he finally decides, that he can't get his mind off of Zayn. The wires in his brain have just gotten all twisted around, firing like a hair trigger at the familiar name.

Doesn't mean that this Zayn is _his_ Zayn. Doesn't mean a thing at all.

-

With the due date of his paper looming closer on the horizon, Niall swaps the quiet of his flat for the quiet of the library. He works diligently, ignoring the tick of the clock as the hours pass by, until his eyes swim, trying to read over what he's written so far, making sure it's not completely nonsensical.

Yawning, he finally packs up, shoving his laptop and textbooks into his bag, shrugging it over one shoulder. He's knackered, but at least his first class tomorrow isn't until late morning and he can have a bit of a lie in. Could text the lads, even, go out for a pint or two tonight until the tension in his shoulders drains away.

The loud splatter of rain against the windowpane as he emerges from the depths of the library halts that train of thought rather abruptly.

“Oh, fuck,” Niall mutters, approaching the doors with dragging footsteps. It's coming down in sheets, and Niall didn't have the foresight to bring a jacket, let alone an umbrella.

“Didn't prepare for the weather, love?” someone asks, and Niall starts, whirling around to guiltily face the middle-aged librarian sitting behind the help desk.

“Um,” he says. “That obvious?”

She just taps the side of her nose. “Try the lost and found. Might be lucky enough to find an umbrella.”

Niall offers her a grateful smile. “Thanks. I will.”

He follows her directions, shuffling past shelves and shelves of books and rounding a corner until he sees it. Rain is still pounding down, drumming on the windows, but right there on the table, amongst solitary mittens and forgotten scarves, is a black umbrella.

Eyes on the prize, Niall hurries forward to grab it. He'll donate ten umbrellas to the library's lost and found, he swears it, as long as he can use this one to get home without becoming drenched through, or worse, soaking his laptop.

He skids to a halt at the table, his hand reaching out, when the umbrella is suddenly snatched away, and his fingers close around air.

Niall glances up at the umbrella thief, and of course, of _fucking_ course.

Zayn's standing there, staring back at him, his mouth open in an 'O' of surprise. “I am so sorry,” he says immediately, releasing the umbrella so it drops back onto the table with a muted thump. “I swear, I didn't see you, mate.”

Awkwardly, Niall lets his hand fall back to his side. “Why does it feel like you're always apologizing to me?”

Rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, Zayn shrugs, the corner of his mouth pulled up into a crooked half-smile. “Wrong place, wrong time?”

“Guess so.” Nodding his head towards the umbrella, Niall adds, “Don't suppose there's a second one, do you?”

A quick search confirms it. There's only one umbrella.

Niall laughs, a little apprehensive, and Zayn echoes it. The air feels like it's crackling with tension, something brewing just beneath the surface that Niall's not sure he wants to acknowledge. “I mean, we could – which direction are ya headed?”

Zayn cocks his head, questioning, and Niall clears his throat. “Could just share, yeah? If we're going the same way. Don't think either of us wants to get wet, so.”

“Right.” Zayn bites his lip, scratching almost absently at the stubble dotting his chin, and his brows are furrowed like he's trying to solve some complex puzzle. The logistics of sharing an umbrella, maybe. If he'd rather face a wet, miserable walk in the rain than a slighter dryer one, if it's worth it to avoid standing next to Niall and pretending everything is normal. Niall has a sudden, visceral flashback of Zayn biting his lip when Niall curled his fingers around Zayn's cock, the sound that slipped past his teeth when Niall used his tongue.

“I'm not that far from yours,” Zayn finally says after a long moment, apparently resigned to his fate. “If you don't mind walking to mine first, then yeah. That could work.”

Zayn's got an inch or two on him, so Niall lets him hold the umbrella. It's not particularly big, as umbrellas go, and they have to stand shoulder to shoulder to fit beneath. They find their stride easily enough, walking along the rain-slicked pavement together, feet slapping wetly with each step.

For a few blocks, there's an easy silence between them, the incessant pounding of the rain filling the quiet. Even with the protection of the umbrella overhead, the cuffs of Niall's jeans are damp in no time, rainwater sneaking into the soles of his trainers, and he shivers a bit in the chilly air, pressing closer to Zayn's warm side on instinct.

They stop at a red light, waiting for traffic to pass, and Zayn shifts his weight, his hip bumping into Niall's. He feels tense, muscles tightly coiled. Fixing his gaze on the ground in front of him, Niall watches the splatter of raindrops hit the street, already saturated with puddles. The glaring red reflection of the traffic light bleeds out in a wobbling line, bright in the darkness.

He's about to say something, anything to break the silence, when the light flips to green. Zayn takes another step forward, Niall at his side, when a car goes racing past, barreling through the intersection. Its tires manage to drag directly through a deep puddle, kicking up a sheet of freezing water that soaks them both from chest to ankles.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Niall grits out at the shock of cold, automatically curling in on himself. His shirt clings wetly to his skin, and Zayn's in no better shape, blinking owlishly into the night like he hasn't quite processed what's happened.

“So much for the umbrella idea,” he says a little sourly, and it's like something snaps, releasing all of the tension that's been choking them. Niall starts to laugh, doubled over and wheezing, and Zayn joins in, softly at first. It grows into this delightfully stupid chuckle, a sound so at odds with Zayn's pretty face and endless lashes and glittering eyes that Niall just laughs harder, until he can't tell if he's shaking from that or the cold.

“I don't know what's so funny,” Zayn manages, once Niall's laughter has faded into the occasional hiccuping giggle.

“Me neither,” Niall confesses. They grin at each other, two bright suns in the pouring rain. Niall's fingers and toes are numb, goosebumps dotting the bare skin of his arms, and he can't stop trembling. There's no place he'd rather be, though, he realizes with a jolt. No one he'd rather be standing next to.

Zayn's let the umbrella fall to the side, useless now that they're soaked anyhow, and rivets of rain run down his face, wetting his lashes until they clump together. Niall wants to brush away the drops of water glistening on his cheeks, taste the rain on his lips, and his feet take a shuffling step forward without his brain's permission.

At once, Zayn takes a step back, keeping the distance between them. “I, uh,” he says, stuttering a bit. “'M just around the corner. It's not too far to yours, is it?”

Slowly, dazedly, Niall shakes his head. “Just...” He licks his lips. “Just a few more blocks.”

“You'll make it all right?” Zayn jerks his chin towards Niall's arms, the way they're wrapped tightly around his torso against the cold. “You're shaking, mate.”

“I'm fine,” Niall lies through chattering teeth. Zayn's just as wet as he is, of course, but he's also wearing a jacket, the black leather dispelling the worst of the rain. A furrow appears between his brows as his lips turn down in a frown, and Zayn presses the umbrella into Niall's hand before shrugging off his jacket.

“What are you – _Zayn_.”

“Take it,” Zayn orders gently, pushing the jacket into Niall's chest until his hand comes up on instinct to grab it.

“But you--”

“Only live around the corner. Don't want to spend the rest of my night worrying about you catchin' pneumonia, all right?” He shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. The rain has slowed a little, now, but the fabric of Zayn's shirt is already dotted with raindrops where his jacket had kept it dry before. His shoulders are hunched in, closed-off, and his face is guarded. Niall can't figure him out, can't slip past his defenses for longer than a moment or two. Can't seem to help himself from trying.

Juggling around the umbrella, Niall slips his arms into the sleeves one at a time. The jacket's a bit big on him, the cuffs too long, but it's warm, even if it smells faintly like smoke. “Thanks,” Niall says, voice small.

Zayn just smiles back, the one that doesn't quite reach his eyes, and turns on his heel to walk away.

“Hey – wait!” Niall calls after him. Zayn glances back, looking over one shoulder, still close enough that Niall can see the way his brow raises in a question.

“How can I give you your jacket back?” He doesn't have Zayn's number, doesn't even know his last name.

Zayn's answering laugh sounds humorless. “I'm sure our paths will cross again.” He doesn't give Niall a chance to respond, turning away again, his long stride eating up ground, the growing distance between them a tangible thing.

Niall stands on the pavement shivering in his too-big jacket until Zayn turns the corner, disappearing like he always does.

-

The next clear night, Niall slips out of his flat and up the stairs to the roof of his building. The lock to the stairwell door has been broken since before he moved in, and no one's ever yelled at him for sneaking up, so he figures even if it's not technically allowed, at least no one is enforcing any 'no trespassing' rules.

The warm glow of city lights drowns out most of the stars, but with a new moon overhead, there are still plenty of cold pricks of light dotting the night sky. Head tipped back, Niall picks out his favorite constellations, or at any rate, the ones that are bright enough to see. He comes up here a lot, whenever he feels stressed or anxious, or just needs space to breathe.

It settles something in his bones, the consistency of space. The stars are reliable, charitable, predictable. The same constellations have overlooked the rise and fall of empires, since long before Niall was born, and they'll still be there, long after his bones are dust. Niall especially appreciates the consistency at times like this. When it feels like his whole world has shifted on its axis, he just has to look up at the stars and center himself.

His sleeves are long enough to cover the mark on his arm, but Niall's memorized the curve of each letter, could trace the pattern of freckles that dot the skin around them with his eyes closed. He's been waiting his whole life to meet his soulmate, but it never occurred to him that maybe his soulmate wouldn't be waiting for him, too.

But that's not quite right, is it? Because Zayn's not _Niall's_ Zayn. They're not soulmates at all. There's another name on Zayn's skin, and someone else out there has Niall's.

He'd always thought there was a certain comfort to finding your soulmate, the matched set of names a confirmation that everything has slotted into place, meant to be. He barely knows Zayn, but it's like he's seeped under Niall's skin, sunk in deep enough that Niall can't claw him out. Doesn't even want to, and that's what scares him the most.

Zayn's shaken his whole world, and Niall's got no idea what to do about it.

Chewing on his lip, Niall rubs his hands up and down his arms, fighting the chill. It's always windier on the roof.

-

It doesn't take a lot of pestering on Louis' part for Niall to agree to meet him and Liam out for drinks. The semester has been chugging along slowly, an endless avalanche of papers and coursework, and Zayn's name on his arm is a constant distraction.

Winter is clinging stubbornly, a bite to the spring air, and Niall's learned his lesson about forgetting a jacket. Louis, of course, calls him out the second he finds them in the crowded bar, a sweating pint already in hand.

“Looking good, Danny Zuko.”

“Shut it.” Niall slides into the booth, fingers curled around his pint. Liam and Louis are sitting in the seat across from him, Louis tucked under Liam's arm and looking unnecessarily pleased about it.

“Are the rest of the T-Birds coming out tonight as well?”

“I like the leather, Niall,” Liam adds cheerfully. “Looks sick.”

Niall groans, dropping his head onto the table. He knew it was a mistake, wearing Zayn's jacket. The scent of smoke still clings stubbornly to the fabric and he buries his nose in the sleeve, breathing it in. “I hate you both,” he moans.

“Why? What did I say?” Liam sounds put out, Louis' cackling laughter almost drowning out his words. Lifting his head, Niall knocks back a few healthy swallows of beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist.

Louis has the attention span of a goldfish and has already moved on to an easier target: Liam's nipples. He tries to tweak them through his shirt, squawking indignantly when Liam promptly catches his hands, twining their fingers together to still him. Niall and Liam both ignore the happy twitch of Louis' mouth at getting to hold Liam's hand. He has this way of getting exactly what he wants and making it look like an accident, but gets terribly stroppy when he's caught out.

“So,” Niall says after he's polished off half his pint. “Who's up first?”

Thursdays are karaoke nights, and the place is usually packed with uni students since it's so close to campus. It's exactly the distraction Niall needs.

Liam pouts, bottom lip poking out a bit. “There was already a long list when we got here. It'll be ages yet before we go.” He brightens up. “But me 'n Lou decided we're gonna do a duet.”

“Don't worry,” Louis says. “We already signed you up. Picked a song for you as well.”

Niall narrows his eyes. “What song?”

“Oh, don't worry about it. It's one you know,” Louis replies with feigned carelessness.

“Louis,” Niall warns, but he only gets a sharp grin in response.

“Who wants another round?” Louis slides out of the booth, picking his way through the crowded bar to order more drinks. Niall takes the opportunity to round on Liam.

“Liam. Mate. Tell me what song he picked.”

Shaking his head, Liam smiles apologetically. “Sorry, Nialler. I've been sworn to secrecy. Louis made me pinky promise.”

It's not long before Louis makes it back to their booth, pints in hand, and from that point on the night is a pleasant combination of cold beer and off-key singing. To be fair, there are a few people with decent voices that manage to sound quite good. Liam claps loudly for a boy in his sociology class who does a surprisingly sick cover of _Torn_.

“Harry smashed it, didn't he?” Liam says, his voice climbing with excitement. “That was amazing!”

“It was okay,” Louis sniffs. His fingers wrap around Liam's forearm, thumb pressed possessively to the spot where Niall knows Louis' name marks the skin. Niall rolls his eyes, because _honestly_.

Up on stage, Harry's shaking his curly fringe out of his eyes. “Thanks!” he chirps into the mic, his talking voice as slow and gravelly as his singing voice. “My mate is up next, and he's a little shy. Can everyone give him a warm welcome?” Harry smiles, wide and charming, and the crowd immediately makes some noise, clapping and cheering. Niall joins in, giving a loud wolf whistle.

“C'mon up, Zayn!”

The whistle dies in Niall's throat and he has to swallow down a slug of beer to wet his suddenly dry tongue. He can feel Louis and Liam's eyes on him, round like saucers.

“Did he say--”

“Niall, isn't that--”

“Holy shit, what if--”

They're talking over each other, babbling excitedly, and Niall watches with a leaden stomach as Zayn steps onto the small stage in the corner of the bar. Even from here, Niall can see that his cheeks are flushed red, but it's hard to say if it's with excitement or embarrassment. Harry claps him on the back, leaning in to whisper something in his ear that makes him bark with laughter, and then Zayn is wrapping his fingers around the mic, curling himself around the stand.

“Um, thanks for that totally unnecessary welcome,” he smiles shyly, and Niall wilts a little. “I'll just get on with it. This is 'Shot For Me.'”

“Oh my god, he's singing Drake. Shit. Fuck. Liam, Niall's soulmate is singing _Drake_! I'm going to have a heart attack. I think I'm – Liam, help me, I'm having a heart attack.”

“Louis, for the love of god, shut up.” Liam grabs Louis by the jaw, hand covering his mouth. He makes a disgruntled face a moment later – Louis probably licked his palm, but Liam's immune to all his tricks by now – and turns towards Niall. “Do you think – shit, Niall. Is it _your_ Zayn?”

Niall has to take another sip of beer before his voice will work. “No, I...” he shakes his head a little violently. “Not my Zayn.”

He gets twin looks of confusion at that, Liam's laced with concern and Louis' with suspicion. The music has started up, though, and all three of them turn towards the stage when Zayn starts singing. He sounds good – better than Liam's mate Harry, even. His eyes slip shut after a second, lashes long against his cheeks, and Niall can't help staring, completely enthralled as Zayn's voice wraps around him, soft and comforting as a blanket.

The bar erupts into cheers when the song ends and it takes Niall a second to remember to clap. Grinning so wide his eyes are just crescent moons, Zayn slips off the stage and back into the crowd.

A shove against his shoulder brings him back to reality, and Niall looks over to see two very pointed stares aimed in his direction.

“I, uh...” trailing off, Niall grabs for his pint, chugging what's left of it. “I need another drink,” he says, slamming the empty glass back on the table and scrambling out of the booth.

“You need to tell me what the fuck you're talking about!” Louis calls after him. Liam must intervene, because he doesn't follow after Niall to demand an explanation. Weaving through the crowded tables, Niall pushes between two people at the bar, signaling for another pint. He's not sure if he actually wants to drink it, or if he wants the familiar prop in hand. Either way, he's glad for it, because when he turns around to maybe head back to the table and face his mates, he's – of course, of fucking course – met with Zayn.

“Oh,” Zayn says, sounding surprised. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself. Uh, no offense mate, but you sounded fucking sick up there.”

Zayn grins hard enough that it wrinkles his nose. Niall takes a fortifying gulp of frothy beer. “None taken?”

God, Niall's such an idiot. Scrabbling for something a normal person would say, he blurts, “You were right. Guess our paths did cross again.”

Zayn raises a brow. “Should ask for my jacket back, but I dunno. Might look better on you.”

Niall blinks in surprise. Is Zayn _flirting_ with him? Zayn must realize how it sounded, because he suddenly blushes. “I mean, uh.”

“We've already run that play, huh?”

Ducking his head, Zayn looks up at him through his lashes. Niall doesn't think he's doing it on purpose, but it makes him want to throw his drink in Zayn's face all the same. He's only human, and Zayn may very well be carved from marble. Niall would think so, but he's felt Zayn's soft skin beneath his fingers, the rough prickle of his stubble, the wet heat of his mouth. He swallows.

“Let me buy you a drink.”

Zayn immediately looks wary. “We already know how this one ends, yeah? Been there, done that.”

It stings, and Zayn looks uncomfortable enough that Niall thinks it was meant to. He wants to pull his hair out, because Zayn keeps doing this – he's friendly and open, cheeky even, one second, then throwing up these walls the next. Niall doesn't get _why_ , because it's not like – they've already slept together. They slept together when Zayn knew that Niall wasn't his soulmate, even if Niall was in the dark. There's no reason to play these games. Niall wants to walk away from it, away from Zayn, but it's like there's this pull, whenever they're around each other. A track Niall can't escape, racing towards an inevitable crash.

“Zayn, I--” Niall starts to say, but then someone else is calling his name, and Zayn looks over his shoulder.

“Sorry, I gotta go. I'll, uh – see you around, maybe?” He doesn't wait for a reply before turning and walking away, the crowd swallowing him up after only a few steps. It's an achingly familiar sight.

Shoulders hunched, Niall takes another swallow of beer. It hits his stomach heavily.

-

He's not proud of it, and he misses out on his turn at karaoke, but it's easier to sneak out the backdoor than face Liam's concerned eyebrows and Louis' judgmental everything. Once he's a block or two away, he shoots Liam a quick text, some bullshit excuse about not feeling well, so at least they won't be looking for him.

He's even less proud of the way he stumbles into bed fully clothed, still wrapped up in Zayn's jacket. There's not quite enough alcohol pumping through his veins to justify passing out without even taking off his trousers, but Niall closes his eyes anyway, tucking himself under a blanket.

Maybe the world will make more sense in the light of day.

-

It doesn't.

Actually, the world makes considerably less sense, because Niall wakes up disoriented to a loud banging just outside his room.

“Fuck off,” he groans into his pillow. Possibly not the brightest move, as there's a would-be intruder knocking about his house, but then a voice that sounds suspiciously like Louis' shouts back, “You fuck off!”

Niall doesn't dignify that with a response, which for some reason Louis interprets as permission to slam open his bedroom door, announcing his presence with a booming, “GOOD MORNING NIALL.”

Eyes slitted against the bright morning light, Niall mumbles in sleep-rough voice, “How did you get in?”

“You told Liam where you keep the spare key.”

“Because I trusted Liam not to abuse it. Which is exactly why I didn't tell _you_.”

“I'm hurt, Nialler, I really am. And anyway,” Louis adds, hopping onto Niall's bed with enough force that he bounces a bit on the mattress, “telling Liam is the same as telling me. Have you not figured that out by now?”

Niall grunts and makes a mental note to hide the spare key somewhere else and take it's location to the grave. He doesn't realize his eyes have slipped shut again until Louis' finger pokes him in the cheek. Turning his head, he snaps at the finger with his teeth and Louis pulls back with a yelp.

“You're a barbarian. A secret-hoarding, friend-ditching barbarian.”

Ah. That would explain why Louis has invaded his room at – Niall cracks his eye open again, squinting blearily at his clock – fuck. Arse-o-clock in the morning.

“Sorry,” he tries. “Wasn't feeling well, didn't want to ruin anyone else's night.”

Louis tsks. “No points for creativity. If you're going to lie to my face, at least have some fun with it.”

“I'm not _lying_ ,” Niall huffs.

“Right,” Louis says, drawing out the word. “Of course you're not. A person with the name of your soulmate – an incredibly fit, Drake-singing person, I might add – just happens to be in the same bar as you last night, but instead of throwing yourself in his arms, you tell us he's not the right one and develop a mysterious, debilitating illness before running away. Have I got that all right?”

“Well shit, Lou, don't pull any punches.”

Louis' eyes widen, and then narrow. “That day we were out to lunch. You'd met him already, hadn't you?”

He's quick, when Liam isn't around to distract him.

“Would you believe me if I told you I don't want to talk about it?”

Louis pretends to think. “I'd believe you if you said you want to get drunk about it.”

Niall snorts. “Drinking is what got me into this mess in the first place.” He never would have brought Zayn home, probably, if it weren't for those tequila shots. Or, well. Zayn would have still had those eyes. He'd at least have asked his name first. Nothing wrong with a pre-soulmate shag, as long as everyone's on the same page. Zayn's a different book altogether.

Arranging himself on the bed so he's lying next to Niall, Louis loops an arm over his shoulder. He's bonier than Liam, all sharp edges, but it's rare that he'll dole out affection like this. Louis is more likely to give you a swift pinch than a hug, though he means the same thing with both. Niall promptly curls into Louis' side, head tucked beneath his chin.

“You have his name, but he doesn't have yours,” Louis guesses, scarily intuitive. Silently, Niall nods.

“Oh, Nialler.” Louis rubs his hand up and down Niall's back; a soothing, easy rhythm. “You know that just means there's still someone else out there, yeah? I won't lie, that Zayn seemed to have the total package, but he's crap, if he's not your Zayn. There's another one that you haven't met yet, one that will, I don't know, move a fucking mountain for you, or something.”

It's easier to address his knees than sit up and look Louis in the eyes. “What if I don't want someone to move mountains, though? What if... what if I want him?”

Louis' hand stills for a moment, his palm warm against Niall's back. He starts moving it again after a second, and when he speaks, it sounds like he's picking his words with care. “It's not unheard of, you know. Sometimes people's soulmates die, or they don't find each other until they're old. They don't want to spend their lives alone, so it happens. People can be with someone who isn't their soulmate.”

Niall waits for the 'but.' Either there isn't one, or for once in his life Louis has decided to keep his opinion to himself. It's not like Niall can't figure it out, anyway. Even if he wants Zayn, there's no guarantee that Zayn will want him back, especially if his skin is marked with another name. No guarantees at all, since they're not actually soulmates.

“Love you, Nialler. Me and Liam both, okay? We'd support you no matter what.”

“Love you too, Lou,” Niall manages, profoundly grateful to whatever stroke of fate brought his best mates into his life.

-

He's a little less grateful a week or so later when Louis starts vocally complaining that Niall's moping is “boring” and starts in with an alarming number of animal-related metaphors. “There's plenty of fish in the sea, Nialler. You just have to get back on the horse. Maybe you've been barking up the wrong tree, you know? It's like they say: curiosity killed the cat.”

Niall frowns. “What does that last one have to do with Zayn?”

Shrugging one shoulder, Louis says, “I'm sure it applies if you try hard enough.”

“Uh huh. And what do I have to do to get you to stop?”

Louis grins. “Thought you'd never ask.”

So that's how Niall finds himself out a crowded house party come Saturday night. He loses Louis after five minutes, but finds his way to the kitchen, pouring himself a drink that's more vodka than coke. It burns the whole way down, and Niall can feel it in the tips of fingers, fizzing warmly in his stomach. Sipping slowly, he makes small talk with some people he knows from class, trading stories of awful professors and tedious papers.

It's hot inside, an uncomfortable crush of too many bodies, and Niall feels it in his chest, a tight ball of anxiety threatening to grow until his lungs tighten. Pushing through the crowd, he finds a door that leads out to the back garden and breathes a sigh of relief at the clear, cool air.

He's not sure why it surprises him; by now he should be used to it. Because of course, of fucking course, there's only one other person out here, sharp cheekbones illuminated by a white splash of moonlight, eyes glittering in the orange glow of a cigarette as he inhales.

Niall wrinkles his nose at the strong smell of smoke and Zayn must catch his expression, because he flicks the rest of his cigarette to the ground, grinding it out beneath the toe of boot.

“We meet again,” he says, voice the slightest bit raspy.

“Getting to be a bad habit, huh?” Niall offers. Zayn's mouth twitches like he wants to smile and is waiting for a reason. Niall doesn't know what else to say, how to keep Zayn's walls from going up.

He tips his chin up towards the sky, where the light of the moon masks all but the brightest stars. “You, uh. Ever heard of binary stars?”

The look Zayn gives him is equal parts cautious and curious. “You've got a bit of a star thing, don't you?”

Niall grins, slips his hands into his pockets. “'M a bit of a space geek, yeah. Wasn't smart enough, mind, to actually study astrophysics or anything, but. I dabble.”

There's definitely an upwards tilt to Zayn's mouth. “You dabble?” he echoes, sounding amused.

“My mate Louis says I sound like a twat if I call myself an amateur astronomer.”

“Well, he's not wrong.” There's a teasing tone to Zayn's voice now, and Niall hopes he can't hear the way his heart is thudding loudly in his chest.

“Oh, fuck off,” he says cheerfully, confidence growing. “Look, do you see that star up there? The bright one, just above that tree branch?”

Zayn glances at him. “Are those the technical terms for pointing out a specific star, or are ya dumbing it down just for me?”

“Cheeky.”

Zayn's mouth is curled into a full-on smile. “All right, I see it.”

“That's Sirius. Brightest star in the whole sky. But it's not _just_ a star – it's a binary star. Can't tell without a fancy telescope, but it's really two stars orbiting each other.”

“Two for the price of one, eh?”

“Yeah.” Zayn's face is soft, open. Niall takes a deep breath. “You know, a lot of people draw comparisons between binary stars and soulmates. If you look close enough, they're made up of two – sometimes more – separate entities. Totally distinct celestial bodies, different properties and everything. From far away, though, you can't tell. Gravity pulls them close enough that their light just bleeds together.”

“Niall...”

“But, okay, listen. There are so many stars that aren't binary, you know? Solitary stars that, I dunno, still belong to constellations and shit, but they don't, I mean, it doesn't matter that --” damn it, he should have known this wouldn't work. Niall's not a poet, can't carry an extended metaphor to make his point without fucking it all up. He gives up, goes for broke. “I don't – fuck it, Zayn. I don't care if you don't have my name, okay? It doesn't matter. I – I want _you_. I choose you anyway.”

Zayn looks pained, but at least he hasn't shut Niall out. “You don't get it, Niall. You _can't_ choose me.”

It feels like maybe the earth has fallen away beneath his feet, but instead of scrambling back, Niall just takes the plunge. “Please, just -- I don't care, I don't care what name you have, give me a chance to--”

“No,” Zayn interrupts. “You don't – _fuck_.” Almost angrily, Zayn starts tugging at the buttons on his shirt, tearing at the material. Niall watches, mouth gaping, as Zayn gets his shirt halfway undone, shoving at the fabric until Niall can see the tattoos inked over his collarbone, standing out starkly against his skin in the moonlight. Zayn jabs his finger at a bit of script that runs along a feathered wing.

Niall sucks in a sharp breath. There, clear as day, is his name, marked on Zayn's skin.

“I...” he fumbles. “You said I wasn't your soulmate. You said--”

“I know what I said,” Zayn huffs, tugging his shirt back over the mark. Niall can't tear his eyes away from the spot, like if he stares hard enough the fabric will melt beneath his gaze. “I lied, okay? I saw my name on your arm, and I just. I panicked.”

“But... _w_ _hy_?” Niall's head is spinning and the ground is still unsteady beneath him. He'd thought – there'd been the chance, of course, that Zayn was waiting for his own soulmate, would want nothing to do with Niall. There had to be a reason he kept the walls up, kept pushing Niall away, and Niall wasn't stupid enough not to consider that reason was someone else. Maybe he was stupid though, or stupidly optimistic, because all he'd been able to focus on was the glimpses he got when Zayn let him past his defenses, the undeniable tug between them, like they were caught in each other's gravitational pull.

It never occurred to him that Zayn would lie.

“Because it's – you shouldn't need someone else, to make you whole. It shouldn't be some preordained thing, where you're born waiting for your second half. It's bullshit. People should get to, like, choose. Who they wanna be with. If they wanna be with anyone. The whole fucking system, it's like. It's fucked up, y'know?”

Niall manages to raise his gaze high enough to meet Zayn's eyes. They're blazing in the dark, a stubborn tilt to his chin, his cheeks flushed. He looks untouchable, a proud, fierce thing, and Niall's fingers twitch with the urge to reach out.

There's a combination of words, he's almost sure of it, that will slip past Zayn's armor, reveal the soft, vulnerable boy Niall knows is in there, with a crooked smile and ridiculous laugh. He wants all of it, though; the rough, prickly edges and the gentle, tender bits - every facet of Zayn, every front and every hidden depth.

What comes out of his mouth is: “You gave me your jacket.”

“You were _shaking_ ,” Zayn says with exasperation.

“You let me keep it,” Niall reminds him.

Zayn shifts his weight, gaze dropping. “It was old anyway,” he mutters. It's true; his jacket was well-worn, nearly ragged, as if it's owner had loved it a lot, tired the seams out by wearing it constantly.

“You--” The word is barely out of his mouth before he's cutting himself off. _You came home with me_ , he wants to say. _You kissed me like you meant it. Was that a lie too?_ Instead he settles on, “When did you know?”

Glancing up, Zayn tilts his head. “Know what?”

“My name. When did you know? Was it after we--”

Zayn's eyes slip shut. “Niall,” he says, a warning in his voice.

Barreling forward, Niall ignores it, desperation tinging his words. “Just tell me. You owe me that much, yeah? Did you know, when you came home with me that night? That I was--”

“No,” Zayn interrupts, cutting him off. “I didn't figure it out until I saw your mark, all right? I didn't – fuck, I wouldn't have gone home with you, if I had known.”

Niall has to take a few deep breaths. “Can we – let's recap, okay? Neither one of us knew each other's names, had no idea that we were – that we _are_ – soulmates, when we went home together. We both chose each other, that night at least, without that bit of information. I've spent the past couple weeks thinking you weren't my soulmate, and wanting you anyway, and you... you think soulmates are bullshit.”

“That's not – fuck, that's not fair, okay?”

“I'm just trying to understand, here.”

“Everyone takes it for granted. They don't – look, it's like, you're raised with this expectation that you're gonna meet your soulmate and everything will be great. But that's a lie. You watch the six-o-clock news and they sweep it under the rug – they don't report the stories of, like, abusive soulmates, or when one of 'em's twenty years older, or someone has more than one name - all the breakdowns that can happen. That _do_ happen. They teach you not to question it.”

It sounds like a speech he's made before, an edge to his words as sharp as a blade. More softly, he adds, “My parents weren't soulmates, you know? I didn't grow up like everyone else, buying in to the whole idea. I've heard them have to defend themselves, over and over, and I just. I dunno. I think people should get to decide for themselves, what they want, and not because of some – some stupid name they're born with.”

“It's not just some stupid name though, is it? Being someone's soulmate is – it's so much more than that.”

For a long moment, Zayn just stares at him, eyes wide. “Doesn't it bother you?” he finally asks, voice low, almost pleading. “How do you know that any of this is real between us? What if the only reason you went home with me is because of that mark on your arm?”

“And what if it's not?” Niall counters. “I _chose_ you, before you showed me your mark. You can make your own decisions, but if you value your agency so much, let me have mine, yeah?”

For once, Zayn's expression isn't closed off. He's looking at Niall with something like misery, or maybe desperation, his face naked with emotion. His mouth opens like he's going to keep arguing, but then he's taking a stumbling step forward, and then another, and suddenly he's crashing into Niall. Zayn's fingers are cupping his face, and his breath is ghosting across his mouth, and Niall's all tangled up, feeling like he's floating away and that he's tethered to earth at the same time.

He barely has time to process before Zayn is slanting his mouth across Niall's, all soft lips and slick tongue, swallowing down the noises that escape Niall's throat. All Niall can feel is the brush of Zayn's fingers against his cheek, the wet slide of his tongue; he breathes in Zayn's scent, subtle cologne and the lingering smell of smoke.

When Zayn pulls back to catch his breath, he rests his forehead against Niall's, still pressed chest to chest, no space between them at all.

“I don't know if I can do this,” he admits, voice barely more than a whisper. “I can't stop thinking about you, can't stop wanting you, but I – I don't want a soulmate, Niall. I don't want any part of it.”

Arms still wrapped around Zayn's waist, Niall lets his fingers skate up and down his back, feeling the knobs of his spine through his t-shirt. “We can take it one day at a time, yeah?” he whispers back. “Every day, we can decide, we can choose. If this is still what we want. We don't have to be soulmates. We can just be us.”

Zayn presses a swift kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Okay. I can – okay. One day at a time. Just us.”

Wrapping his arms tighter around Zayn, Niall pulls him in close. He's finally slipped behind his walls, and he's not about to let Zayn rebuild them with him on the other side. Zayn sinks into him, lets Niall cling until from a distance, it'd be impossible to tell where one of them ends and the other begins, the lines between them bleeding together in the dark.

 


End file.
